No Regrets
by SKC83
Summary: Willy Wonka has a private conversation with a dying Joe Bucket, one that brings to light Joe's last lingering regret. . . Warnings: MM.
1. part i

"No Regrets"

When Joe Bucket groggily opened his tired old eyes, the last person in the world that he expected to see sitting across the room was Mr. Willy Wonka.

At first, Joe thought that the fancifully dressed inventor was perhaps a remnant from what he felt like must have been a pleasant dream. A few blinks later to clear most of the blurriness and sleep from his eyes, however, confirmed that Willy Wonka was not a figment of his failing mind, but was, in fact, very real.

Regardless of the fact that the Bucket family had been living with Willy Wonka for many years now, and his presence was certainly not a rarity within the Bucket home, Willy had never quite gotten used to being what one would call a "social" kind of person. It was only when Wonka's protégé, and Joe's grandson, Charlie, was present that Mr. Wonka seemed to be at ease and engage with the rest of the family; for once Charlie was removed from the scene, Wonka would withdraw into himself, seemingly becoming unsure and awkward with the remaining family members, it was as if Wonka needed Charlie to give him confidence. It made little or no difference however, if Charlie was there or not when it came to the more "emotive" situations, for Wonka simply did not know what to do with himself and therefore he avoided any such situation as if it were a snozwanger in heat. Three such "emotionally involved" occurrences that Wonka had avoided had been the deaths of the other grandparents within the family unit; George, Georgina and Joe's own dear wife Josephine. As the seniors had come closer the ends of their lives, Willy had simply disappeared from the Bucket household, feigning some illness of his own or that he had a desperate amount of paperwork to do as his excuses for his absence. Of course, everyone knew that Willy was never sick and most certainly never did any paper work as he abhorred the stuff, but even still, no one was offended by Wonka's absence during the last days of the elders. Wonka had always been present at the funerals however, looking tired and ashen faced; sitting next to his heir, and gripping the boy's small hand until white knuckles showed through his translucent violet gloves . . .

With all of these things considered, Wonka's mere presence within the room was a surprising event in and of itself, not to mention the fact that he was there alone. It was surprising because Joe Bucket, who had outlived all of the other grandparents despite being the oldest, was now finally on his death bed.

Willy Wonka was perched cross-legged upon an ancient looking, yet sturdy chair that Joe recalled had been made by himself many years prior. The chocolatier showed no indication of being aware of the old man's visual appraisal as he sat sipping a steaming something that emanated the delicious aroma of semisweet chocolate and something else that Joe couldn't quite place, from a small cup decorated with delicate "W's" around it's rim.

It was on this rim, and the ruby lips that lighted there, that his old eyes finally rested, before slowly making their way up the pale face to Wonka's mesmerizing amethyst eyes, hidden now by dark lashes.  
A moment later and the smoky lids slid open and the mesmerizing eyes in question darted in Joe's direction.

Wonka gave a startled little jump, nearly spilling his drink as he realized that Joe was awake. "OH! Oh, my! (nervous giggle) I'm so very sorry, I didn't realize that you were up and about or I most certainly wouldn't have just kept on sitting here not sayin' a word and sipping my drink as if I had the whole day to myself, but then again this drink here just so happens to have one of the most scrumptious flavours that I've come up with in quite some time, just made it this morning actually, and so it's kinda difficult to keep track of your surroundings with so much tastebud stimulation going on, not that I'm calling you a 'surrounding' or anything . . ."

Joe's head was starting to hurt from trying to force his tired old mind to keep up with Willy's verbal tirade, but at least it confirmed one suspicion; Wonka was indeed very nervous about this

situation.

Joe gave the broadest smile that he could muster to the chocolatier. "It's (deep breath) It's all right, Mr. Wonka. I'd . . . I'd only just woken up."

Wonka responded with a toothy, yet nervous grin of his own. "Oh, well then that's . . . that's good. The last thing I wanted to do was scare ya to death-"

Mr. Wonka realized his lack of tact a little too late and he visibly winced, his dark brows knitting together in distress.

Taking note of Wonka's anxiety, Joe was quick to come to his aid with a change in subject. "It's very nice to see you again, Mr. Wonka, it's been a while since I saw you last."

Wonka seemed to relax only slightly. "Ah-ah yes. I've been . . . ah, very, very busy these last few days . . . ah, paperwork up to my left earlobe you see . . ."

Joe gave a knowing, yet pleasant smile. Wonka was the same as always, why Joe even recalled Willy using a very similar excuse many, many years ago in a little candy shop on Cherry Street . . .

Joe Bucket decided not to allow himself to recall anymore of that particular conversation with Willy Wonka and instead asked a question that suddenly came to mind.

"Completely understandable Mr. Wonka. But may I say that I was quite surprised to see you sitting in that chair when I woke up, as it was my dear grandson who was there as I went to sleep."

Wonka brightened considerably at the mentioning of his heir. "Oh! Ya mean Charlie? Yes, well he was here when I came in but I decided to give him a little break so that he could get some rest himself you see. He's downstairs with his par-err huff 'mom' and 'dad.'"  
Well now, this was an interesting development. Wonka had actually asked the boy to leave?

Wonka laid his cup on Charlie's bureau sighing deeply, and then seemingly drawing encouragement from the thought of his heir, he flashed a genuine smile at the elder Bucket and rose to his feet.

At first Joe thought that Wonka was simply going to move his chair closer, but instead, Wonka straightened his coat and then made his way over to Charlie's little bed that the senior Bucket was occupying, to sit tentatively on the edge.

If Joe had one sense that had not been affected by age it was his sense of smell, and at that moment a new smell caressed this sense. It was both warm and fresh all at once, like molten chocolate with a splash of berries. It was Willy Wonka.

Joe would later blame it on the rarity of being alone with Willy Wonka that caused a long buried emotion creep to the surface of his consciousness as he indulged in the exotic smell of the other man. It was an emotion that he felt an old man such as himself had absolutely no right to have or ever have for that matter. But return the emotion did, and along with it came a memory from long ago. . .

w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w

Joe Bucket fumbled with his key ring, searching desperately in the dark for his key to Willy Wonka's candy shop. He glanced around nervously to see if anyone had spotted him, feeling incredibly guilty. Joe was the only employee that Mr. Wonka had given a key of his shop to and Joe had felt beyond honoured to be so trusted. Of course, Mr. Wonka had given him the key with the intent that Joe only use it in the very rare case that Mr. Wonka was ill or if Joe arrived in the morning before him (which was also an extremely rare occurrence as Mr. Wonka lived in an apartment just above the candy shop). Mr. Wonka had most certainly never intended for Joe to have a little excursion to shop in the wee hours of the morning and Joe would never in his life have thought that he would ever be doing such a thing . . .

He finally found the little silver key and inserted it into the lock, and with another quick glance around, he turned the key to open the door and stepped inside. No, Joe Bucket had never intended to ever visit the shop this terribly late, but a very desperate situation had arisen. Earlier that night he had just settled down under his bedcovers for a well deserved rest when he had suddenly remembered that the gift that he had made that day for his dear Josie for their anniversary in the morning was still in the candy shop. He had then made a snap decision to go back to the candy store to get the gift. At the time, it had seemed like a wonderful idea, but now as he tip-toed towards the back of the shop, he was no longer sure that his wonderful idea was all that wonderful.

He carefully peeked around the entrance to the back room and breathed a sigh of relief as the moonlit room appeared to be deserted.  
Joe carefully made his way towards the back of the room where he had left Josie's gift; a flower that he had fashioned from translucent pink sugar. It was quite a pretty little thing although a little lopsided, but Joe was quite proud of himself as it was most certainly his greatest effort in the way of creativity. He was nowhere near having Mr. Wonka's talents but . . .

Joe stopped dead in his tracks, for just ahead of him, in what appeared to be the very spot of the flower, came a sudden blue glow that had nothing to do with the moonlight. The sound of someone humming (singing?) a merry little tune then followed and Joe began to panic. Surely he would be caught now? Had the person heard him yet? Seen him?

Despite Joe's apprehension, he remained rooted to the spot. He allowed himself to relax as it became apparent that the unknown person was most likely unaware of his presence. In fact, he was now miraculously feeling drawn towards the now pulsating light and musical voice.

His feet began to move forwards as if on their own accord and soon enough, he was standing behind the wall of the cubicle from which the glow flowed from.

Joe's old heart felt as if it where about to burst from his chest. He should turn around right now. Just turn around, run out the door, and forget all of this ever happened. Explain to Josie in the morning that he had foolishly left the gift at work.

But he didn't turn around. Instead, he crept along the wall and slowly peered over the edge to see who could possibly be here this late.

It was Willy Wonka.

That fact should not have surprised him, in fact, it was obvious now that it could not have been anyone else. But to simply say that the sight before him was just "Willy Wonka," would have been a gross injustice. It was . . . it was like a vision. Wonka stood over Joe's little work table sideways to Joe's line of vision, holding in his gloved hand Joe's little flower. The glow, Joe now saw, was coming from the flower. Wonka was twirling it between his fingers, caressing it's petals and was holding it near enough that it appeared as though he was singing to the flower. Wonka's eyes were closed and small smile lighted his stained lips as he sang something hauntingly sweet.

In that moment, Willy Wonka was the most beautiful human being that Joe had ever seen.

Mr. Wonka stopped singing then, and the shimmering blue light dimmed, the soft glow of the moon returning to flood the cubicle once more. His eyes slid open and turned towards Joe. "You made this, didn't you?"

Joe was nearly breathless with shock but somehow managed to dumbly nod an affirmative.

Wonka turned towards him then, with his ethereal eyes glimmering in the silver moonlight and a gentle smile, "I do hope you'll forgive me, but I simply couldn't help myself. It was such a pretty little thing, and I am so drawn towards pretty things . . ."

And for the first time Joe finally noticed the flower that Wonka held extended in his hand. It was no longer a generic flower, it had become a rose. A rose whose translucent petals were a deep mauve that shimmered from sliver to blue, shining as if a morning dew had settled eternally upon it's petals. The rose was made from candy, and yet for all the world it seemed to be real, not real in the sense of organic, but real in the sense of life.

The entire image before Joe was enough for both incredible awe and unwarranted desires to arise within him. And with desire came a wave of guilt. He had a wonderful wife that he loved very, very much and even if he didn't, an old man like him should not lust after another man, most certainly not one as young as Mr. Wonka; and in standing before such a vision of youthful androgynous beauty, Joe Bucket had never felt older in his life . . .

Joe continued to stare dumbly at the rose, and although his jaw opened and closed he was still at a complete and utter lose for words.

A frown creased Willy Wonka's brow then. "Do you not want it now? I . . . I am sorry . . ."

Perhaps it was the fear of offending Wonka's feelings that gave Joe's vocal cords the kick start that they needed to finally produce an answer. "Yes, I mean no! I mean, yes of course I still want it . . ."

Wonka's smile returned. "Oh, that's good to hear. Are you sure you're not angry? I did change it on you after all . . ."

Joe was quick to answer. "I'm- I'm not angry, Mr. Wonka . . . it's . . . it's beautiful." -And so are you- but Joe kept that to his guilty self.

In the dark, Wonka appeared to blush as if he had heard Joe's unsaid words just the same. He handed the flower to Joe with a shy smile. "I'm glad you think so."

Joe didn't get the chance to respond however, as with a tip of his hat and a quick good-night, Mr. Wonka suddenly turned towards the exit, his cane and heels clicking in time upon the polished tile.

Joe once again was staring dumbly but Wonka turned once more towards him. "Oh, do be sure to lock up on your way out? And," His eyes were hidden then in shadow . . . "I hope your wife likes it as much as you."

And then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness of the night.


	2. part ii

(Part ii)

"Grampa Joe?"

Joe Bucket gave a start as he awoke from his involuntary nap, eyes wide and confused. He finally regained his bearings and his eyes came into focus on a very sheepish and frazzled looking Willy

Wonka.

"I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to wake you up. I thought about pinching your arm or holding your nose but then I thought that maybe a gentle shake would be best . . . ah . . . was I wrong?" Wonka had taken off both his frock coat and hat while Joe had been sleeping, the latter of which he was now nervously turning in his hands.

"No, no Mr. Wonka. That's quite alright, happens . . . happens all the time." Joe had felt himself getting weaker and weaker over the last few weeks and now felt that he really didn't have much time left. Before today, and the memories that had returned, he had felt just fine with the idea that he was dying but now . . . well now he couldn't help but feel some regret, no matter how guilty it made him feel. Maybe, just maybe if he had been younger . . .

"Er, Grampa Joe sir? Ya sorta "zoned out" on me again there."

Grampa Joe. It was what Willy Wonka insisted on calling him, perhaps (and truly perhaps) out of a sign of affection, but right now, Joe couldn't help but resent the title as it made the rift between this beautiful man and himself all the more obvious.

In any case Joe knew that he was near the end of his life and he decided then to clarify at least this small matter. "Please, Mr. Wonka . . . please just. . . call me Joe."

Wonka's brows raised in slight surprise but then he smiled. "Alright then, . . . Joe. Do ya think that you're up for a rather serious conversation, regarding a rather serious matter?"

It was Joe's turn to look surprised. "Well I don't know. What ever do you mean by 'serious?'"

Willy's eyes shifted away from the elder man and he began to fidget in his spot. "Well um . . . ah, it's . . . it's about . . . about your err, current um, 'state' and what's going to . . . going to . . . 'happen'. . ."

"You want to talk about me dying?"

Wonka blanched, "W-well yes . . . I suppose I do. And yet I don't . . . well hopefully not anyway . . ."

Joe watched curiously as Mr. Wonka shuffled closer to him on the edge of the bed. The candymaker still refused to look at him, staring instead at his polished shoes as he spoke once again. "Do you, . . . do you want to die, Joe?"

Joe was stunned. It just was not a question that he had expected to hear from Willy Wonka, especially in such a serious tone. But how could he answer such a question? Did he want to die? Was there anything really left living for?

"I . . . I don't know if I can answer that question, Mr. Wonka. But let's just say that to carry on as I am now would not be the brightest of futures."

Wonka nodded. "That's what I thought." He was silent for a moment before he finally turned to glance at Joe. "Charlie . . . He . . . he cares for you very much."

Charlie? Just where was Mr. Wonka going with this?

Willy looked away from Joe again. "And I, . . . Well I care for him very much." He did not look at Joe at all as he continued. "You . . . -choke- 'dying' is really going to upset him. And I, well I don't want Charlie to ever have to feel upset. I'd . . . I'd do anything to make him happy . . ."

Mr. Wonka was worried about Charlie . . . of course he was worried about Charlie, but he still couldn't quite hold back the bitterness he felt at his own welfare not being Wonka's main concern.

"Yes . . . I suppose it will be hard on Charlie, but, . . . he's a strong boy and in any case there is nothing that can be done to stop it."

Wonka's eyes suddenly brightened at this and he spoke with enthusiasm. "But, that's not true, there is something that can be done to stop it!"

The chocolatier then reached inside of his vest to pull forth a tiny bottle. A tiny bottle that vibrated ever so slightly . . .

The eagerness was obvious in Wonka's eyes as he held the bottle for Joe to see. But Joe didn't need to read the scrawling name on the bottle to know what it was. . .

"WonkaVite?"

"Yes indeed, it most certainly is!" Wonka pressed on as Joe went to protest. "Please Joe, I know what your feelings were regarding these things before but surely you'd like to consider it now? Think of Charlie and how much it would mean to him for you to be here! You could be up skipping about the factory rather being stuck in bed, you don't have to die, Joe . . ."

WonkaVite. He had refused it once already, having felt alarmed at the eagerness he had suddenly experienced as his eyes had rested on Mr. Wonka. He had known better then, and should know better now. But then again, this "now" had certainly changed from the previous now hadn't it? For one, his dear Josie had departed from this world and two, well two he was about to die with quite a lingering regret . . .

He stared hard at the bottle and all that it represented. This little bottle had the potential to save his life, to make him as young as Mr. Wonka, to give him a chance to ease his regret of simply never knowing. 'If only I had been younger" is what he had always said, and now, well now he could be . . .

Joe almost made to take the bottle but then he remembered Wonka's reasoning for this and the man's voice as he had spoken of his grandson, so full of joy; and the way his violet eyes had shimmered at the mentioning of the boy . . . it was the same as . . . the same as himself when he spoke or thought of Willy Wonka.

And suddenly, he understood.

He withdrew from the bottle, flopping back in his pillow. If he could not cure his own regrets, than he would not allow Willy Wonka to be doomed to the same fate.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry Mr. Wonka. But I cannot accept."

Wonka's eyes turned downcast and he slowly let his hand holding the bottle drop. "B-but . . . but why-"

"Mr. Wonka . . ." It was becoming quite difficult to breathe now, "save them for . . . for yourself. It's not me that Charlie needs now, Mr. Wonka." And then he looked directly into Wonka's eyes and with as much meaning as he could possibly imply whispered, "It's you."

Wonka's eyes widened in surprise but then deepened with emotion as the meaning became clear. "If you think . . . if you think that's best . . ."

"I do."

A flurry of emotions flashed across Willy's face before he finally gave a shaky, yet genuine smile. A silence fell then for a moment before Wonka finally stood, making his way over to Charlie's bureau to retrieve his coat and cane.

Wonka shrugged into his coat and after carefully placing his top hat in its rightful place, he slowly turned around to face Joe once again.

"You've made a lot of sacrifices in your life, haven't you, Joe." It was not a question.

Joe merely smiled gently, "No more than what any other decent person would have done, I suppose . . ."  
Wonka's eyes shifted away from Joe. "You have made sacrifices, and sacrifices often lead to regrets. Tell me, Joe . . ." his eyes slid back to Joe, "do you have regrets? . . ."

Joe now was surprised that his heart was still beating, it had always unnerved him how Willy Wonka always seemed to be aware of one's secret thoughts, no matter how deeply they had been buried and now, . . . well now Wonka's accuracy on the situation was uncanny to say the very least. Did he have regrets? . . . Yes, he did, and he was about to tell the truth when his heart failed him. He would not be that selfish . . . even if it meant telling an outright lie to Willy Wonka.

"No, I don't." He could not face Wonka as he continued. "I have no regrets."

Wonka's brows creased into a frown as Joe finally found the courage to look back to the chocolatier. Willy searched Joe's eyes for a moment before he let out a long sigh.

"No regrets huh? How fortunate you are to have none, not many of us will be able to say the same." He sighed again. "Well, I guess I'd better be on my way then seeing how you've made your decision. I'll send Charlie back up." He turned then to leave but stopped once more, his back to Joe. "It may not be something that you regret, but just in case you had ever wondered, Joe . . . I would have."

Joe stared after Wonka's retreating form as the man's words echoed through his mind. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his soul and Joe smiled happily. In that moment, simply knowing was all he needed, and so he settled down once more as sleep overcame him and a dream began . . . and it promised to be pleasant.

WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW


End file.
